A Small Mistake
by Lollipop456
Summary: While pursuing a suspect, Holmes is shot and left on death's doorstep. Meanwhile, Doctor Watson feels helpless as both friend & doctor.
1. Chapter 1

It was an ordinary day for Sherlock Holmes and Doctor James Watson. Like always, they were chasing down a criminal and attempting an arrest.

"You failed to mention that he was armed." said Doctor Watson.

"I'm a detective, not a prophet." argued Holmes.

"Can you attempt to give me a legible excuse for once?"

Suddenly, the suspect began to fire his gun. Holmes and Doctor Watson acted quickly and hid behind a row of barrels; hoping that it would be able to act as armor for a few moments.

"With your level of expertise in deduction, there is no possible way that you would have been able to deny that he would be armed."

"I'm a man in my forties, Watson. It's considered a well-known fact that age does take its toll on the memory."

Watson rolled his eyes and the suspect began to fire at them again. The two quickly ducked their heads until it was quiet again.

"How do you expect us to capture an armed suspect who has just escaped from an insane asylum, when we've so foolishly left our own weapons behind?"

"We'll use the simplest method, Watson: diversion."

"Are you mad?"

"It's very simple. One of us, preferably you, will come out of hiding and distract him, while the other person, preferably myself, will attack from behind and disarm him."

"It's far too dangerous, Holmes. We could get shot."

"Life isn't worth living if there aren't any risks."

Doctor Watson nodded and then carefully sneaked out from behind the barrels and was able to sneak his way past the suspect, so that he was in front of him. He then jumped out and the suspect turned to face him.

"For choosing the field of medicine, I am told to be quite the athlete. "

Doctor Watson began running and the suspect began chasing after him; firing as they ran. The suspect had no idea that Holmes was right behind them and ready to attack. Soon, Doctor Watson found himself boxed into a corner.

"Any last words, Doctor?" asked the suspect.

"Mind your head." said Doctor Watson, giving a small smile.

Without warning, Holmes whacked the suspect over the head with a plank of wood; knocking him out cold.

"I was beginning to wonder if his head was as hard as I thought it was." said Holmes.

Holmes dropped the plank and leaned over to collect the pistol. It didn't take long for the suspect to roll onto his back and fire a bullet straight into Holmes' gut. Doctor Watson acted quickly and kneed the suspect in the groin and punched him square in the jaw, he swiped away the pistol and then shot the suspect right through the forehead, killing him instantly.

"W-Watson?"

Doctor Watson saw Holmes slumped against a wall, with his stomach bleeding profusely and his breathing becoming increasingly labored.

"Holmes," Doctor Watson caught Holmes just as he was about to fall. "it'll be all right, I promise."

Doctor Watson carefully laid Holmes on the ground, so that he could examine the wound more closely. He removed Holmes' coat and unbuttoned the last few buttons of his shirt; exposing the gunshot and causing the blood to pour out.

"It's tore the flesh." whispered Doctor Watson.

"What's happened?" asked Holmes, trying his best to sit up.

"Rest, old boy. It's nothing that I can't handle."

Holmes lowered himself again and Doctor Watson let out a sigh. He removed his own coat and pressed it hard against the wound, in an effort to stop the bleeding. After a few minutes, the bleeding subsided and Doctor Watson felt it was safe to move Holmes. Carefully, he helped him off the ground and dragged him out of the darkened alley.


	2. Chapter 2

At the Watson household, Mary, Doctor Watson's wife, was becoming increasingly worried. It was an hour past midnight, and her husband still hadn't returned. Of course, being a doctor's wife she expected late hours, but also knowing about his friendship with Holmes, she expected great danger.

Suddenly, Mary heard fierce pounding on the front door. She quickly stood from her seat and rushed to the door. It was only when she opened it, that she was greeted by her weary husband carrying a bloodied Holmes in his arms.

"Dear god, John. What happened to him?" asked Mary.

"He's been shot. I fear that the bullet may be lodged inside of him." said Doctor Watson.

"Bring him in."

Doctor Watson carried Holmes inside and to the parlor; where he laid him out on the floor and removed his shirt, fully exposing the open wound.

"Darling, bring me my bag. I have to remove it."

"You intend to perform the procedure here in the parlor?"

"I can't carry him up the stairs without causing stress. If that happens, then his muscles will become stiff and he'll only begin to bleed again."

Mary nodded and grabbed Doctor Watson's bag off of the mantle and laid it next to him. He began pulling out a few tools, which included forceps to remove the bullet. As he lifted his scalpel, Mary grabbed his wrist.

"Shouldn't you give him something for the pain?" asked Mary.

"I've no time to administer anesthetics, Mary. It has to come out."

Mary took a few steps away from her husband and turned her back to him; just so she was unable to watch the surgery. Doctor Watson laid a hand on Holmes' forehead, and their eyes met for a moment.

"I'm sorry, old boy."

Doctor Watson let out a sigh and began to use his scalpel to cut deeper into Holmes' flesh. Carefully, he began to remove tissue that had become infected by the wound. This was a sure sign that the bullet was inside of Holmes body.

After a near hour, Holmes had lost a great amount of blood and close to losing conscious; by a miracle, he was still alive & alert. Then, it happened; Doctor Watson had finally found the bullet and extracted it with his forceps. He then took out a needle to suture the wound close, and a thin piece of thread to hold it together. After suturing and bandaging the wound; Doctor Watson turned his attention to Holmes, only to see that he was completely unconscious.

"Holmes...?"

Doctor Watson acted quickly and checked Holmes' pulse. Thankfully he found one, and then stood to his feet.

"Mary, do you mind cleaning the parlor? I'll take Holmes upstairs."

"Of course, John."

Doctor Watson carried Holmes upstairs and laid him out on the guest bed. After a few minutes, Holmes regained conscious and turned his head towards Doctor Watson.

"Watson?"

Doctor Watson turned his attention towards Holmes and saw that he was trying his best to sit up. He rushed to him and gently pushed him against the pillow.

"Try not to move. You're recovering from major surgery."

"S-Surgery?"

"The bullet had lodged into your stomach. I had to extract it. Thankfully, there doesn't seem to be any damage to your internal organs and there is only a slight risk of infection."

"Percentage."

"What?"

"What is the percentage of the risk of infection?"

"I would estimate about a 90 % chance of your full recovery. You've only a 10 % chance of a developing an infection."

"So then it's small."

"Yes, very. You were lucky that the bullet didn't scar any intestines, that would have only produce more blood."

"The...The..."

Doctor Watson, knowing what Holmes was wanting to say, laid an assuring hand on his shoulder.

"Lestrade took him into custody. I'm certain they'll add attempted murder to his list of numerous charges."

Holmes gave a light chuckle, which was short-lived when he felt a wave of pain rush through his body. Doctor Watson reacted quickly and took his hand, allowing Holmes to grip it as badly as he wanted. After two minutes, the grip was loosened and Holmes relaxed. Doctor Watson carefully released his hand and covered Holmes' body with the bed's blanket.

"It's best if you sleep, Holmes."

"I do suppose you know what's best."

Holmes closed his eyes and soon fell asleep. When Doctor Watson felt it was safe to move away from his bedside; he did so and walked out of the room, and downstairs to the parlor. He saw that Mary was working on scrubbing the blood stains out of the rug. She looked up when she realized that her husband was in the room with her.

"How is Mr. Holmes?" asked Mary.

"He's resting for the moment. Unfortunately, he is in a great amount of pain."

"Will he be all right, John?"

"Of course he will. There's only a slight chance of the wound becoming infected. That would be the only setback, if there are any."

"You sound so confident."

Doctor Watson paused for a moment, and then let out a deep sigh. "I have to be."


	3. Chapter 3

After being persuaded by Mary, Doctor Watson decided to sleep in his own bedroom, instead of the guest room to keep an eye on Holmes. Of course, since the chance of a setback was small, Doctor Watson slept easily that night and never did hear Holmes call for assistance.

The next morning, Doctor Watson decided to check on Holmes; he was horrified by how fast Holmes' condition had deteriorated. His skin had become as pale as sheet, and cold to the touch, his eyes were red and slightly swollen, and the bandages covering his wound were stained with blood. It was no wonder that Holmes never asked for assistance during the night; he most likely had been drained of the strength to do so.

Doctor Watson felt Holmes' forehead, and felt the sensation as if his fingers were on fire; Holmes had developed a fever overnight.

"Holmes, it's Watson. Can you hear me?" asked Doctor Watson.

For a moment, there was nothing but silence. The only sound was the labored breathing of a sickly Holmes. Doctor Watson feared the worst and assumed that his good friend had become comatose.

"Holmes please," Doctor Watson could hear his voice beginning to break. "I need to you to open your eyes, ol' boy. For a moment, please."

Slowly, but surely, Holmes opened his eyes and looked at Doctor Watson. Doctor Watson gave a half-hearted smile and took his hand in his own. With what strength he had, Holmes was able to squeeze his friend's hand.

"I...I trust it's morning." whispered Holmes.

"That's of little importance. I have to examine your wound, so try to keep calm." said Doctor Watson.

Holmes nodded slowly and Doctor Watson slowly began to unwrap the bandages. He saw that the stitches from the wound had split and blood was covering the entire wound, and the skin from the wound was turning a dark black. These were sure signs of infection. Mary, wearing her morning robe, came into the room and was taken aback by the sight of Holmes.

"Mary, find my bag and fetch a roll of bandages, I also require a pitcher filled with water and a dry cloth, hurry!" ordered Doctor Watson.

Mary rushed from the room, and Doctor Watson gently pressed his hand against the wound, in an effort to stop the bleeding. He knew that Holmes was in a great deal of pain, and that he was, most-likely, contributing to it; still he knew this would be the only way to help him for the time being.

After a few moments, Mary returned with a pitcher, a cloth, and some bandages. She stayed with Holmes as Doctor Watson prepared everything. First, he took the pitcher and poured its water into a basin, and began soaking the cloth in it. Once the cloth had absorbed enough water, he carried it over to Holmes and began to clean the wound carefully.

"He seems so sick, John. What's happened?" asked Mary.

"The damn wound has become infected. It has to be cleaned now or else the infection will only spread and worsen his condition." said Doctor Watson.

"I don't understand, he seemed so healthy before." said Mary.

"It's my doing. If only I had stayed with him, then I could have kept a closer watch on his health."

"Why blame yourself over the inevitable?" asked Mary.

"The only thing I can be sure of is that I cannot leave Holmes until he's made a complete recovery." said Doctor Watson.

Mary sighed and left Doctor Watson alone to take care of Holmes. After cleaning the wound, Doctor Watson restitched it and bandaged it again. After awhile, Holmes began to shiver uncontrollably, almost as if he were laying in a pile-of-snow. Doctor Watson covered him with a blanket, and used his hand to brush back Holmes' hair that had become soaked with sweat.

"You mustn't worry, ol' boy. I'm not leaving you again." whispered Doctor Watson.


	4. Chapter 4

For the next few hours, Doctor Watson did all he could for Holmes: changed his bandages, cleaned the wound, and tried everything in his power to bring down his fever. Unforunately, it seemed that Holmes was getting worse and that all of Doctor Watson's efforts were meaningless. Naturally, this only added to the guilt that he was feeling for leaving Holmes during the night.

At six in the evening, Mary sat at the empty dining table. She had sent Marie, a French maid in the household, to fetch Doctor Watson for supper. When Marie returned alone, it was obvious that she had failed to take Doctor Watson away from Holmes.

"I've tried everything, Madame. I even offered to care for Monsieur Holmes until he was able to return to him; he simply won't leave his side, not even for supper." said Marie.

"Well, then I want you to deliver a tray of food to the master. He at least needs to eat, if he inists on caring for Mr. Holmes into the evening." said Mary.

"Of course, Madame."

Marie left the dining room, and Mary began to eat her supper without the usual company of her husband.

In the guest room, Doctor Watson had just placed another cold cloth on Holmes' forehead, in an attempt to bring down his fever; it didn't take long for Holmes to begin shivering.

"Watson, I'm cold." said Holmes.

"I know you are, Holmes, but this is the only way to help you." said Doctor Watson.

Doctor Watson pulled a large blanket over Holmes, when he suddenly heard a knock on the door. He reluctantly left Holmes' side and went to answer the door; Marie was standing at the doorway, carrying a silver tray.

"The mistress wanted me to bring you your supper." said Marie.

"Thank you, Marie." said Doctor Watson, taking the tray from Marie.

"How is he today?" asked Marie.

"Weak. Even the slightest movement requires a fair amount of strength." said Doctor Watson.

"The mistress may not be able to see why you're doing this, Médecin, but I do. Monsieur Holmes can only rely on you at this moment, he needs your hope to get him through."

Doctor Watson smiled as Marie curtseyed and left him alone with Holmes again. As he set the tray down, he heard the most violent cough come from Holmes.

"Easy, ol' boy."

Doctor Watson approached Holmes and sat him up, so he could clear his lungs. After awhile, the coughing stopped and Holmes sank back against the pillows.

"T-The fever, I assume?" asked Holmes, his voice sounding slightly weary from the coughing.

"I'm afraid so. We shouldn't let this take our hopes, however. In time, you'll regain your strength, and be taking on a new case before the month is out." said Doctor Watson.

"Is that a promise?"

Doctor Watson smiled and took Holmes' hand and gave it a quick squeeze.

"Of course it is." said Doctor Watson.

During the night, Holmes was sound asleep, but Doctor Watson was still awake and working to bring down the fever. He was slightly startled when Mary entered the room, and folded her arms. He could tell that she was angry about something.

"What's wrong?" asked Doctor Watson.

"May I speak to you in the hall?" asked Mary.

Doctor Watson, though extremely reluctant to leave Holmes alone, stepped into the hallway with Mary.

"John, I think it would be best if Mr. Holmes was taken to a hospital. You are a marvleous doctor, but you cannot care for him alone. You're tired, you're not even eating meals anymore. "

"I'm all right, darling. Really, I am. Besides, Holmes is far too sick to be taken to a hospital."

"John, please-"

"Watson! Watson, help me!"

Upon hearing Holmes crying for help, Doctor Watson stepped back into the room and closed the door. Holmes was slumped over the bed, and was coughing up blood & vomit; Doctor Watson acted quickly and cleaned up Holmes and the vomit.

"I'm sorry. I just felt dizzy, and..."

"No need for an apology, ol' boy. It's nothing that I can't handle."

As Doctor Watson placed a cold cloth on Holmes' forehead, he saw that his eyes were becoming rather glassy.

"What is it?" asked Holmes.

"Nothing. I just thought that I saw something." said Doctor Watson.

Doctor Watson had lied to his friend. He knew that since Holmes' eyes were glassy, that the infection had probably begun to take its toll on his opthalmological nerves, and that was a good chance that, by the next morning, he would be completely blind.


	5. Chapter 5

The next morning, Doctor Watson awoke and saw that Holmes was sound asleep. He hated to wake him, as the young detective had barely been able to rest since he was shot; but Doctor Watson needed to know if his sight was gone.

Doctor Watson stood and, with a quivering hand, shook Holmes gently by the shoulder. After awhile, the exhausted Holmes looked up at his friend.

"Good morning." said Holmes.

Doctor Watson breathed a sigh of relief. "Good morning, Holmes. How do you feel?"

"Tired...weak..."

"What of your vision? Can you see me?"

"Well, everything is a bit blurry, but I do see you."

"I apologize for waking you, I just wanted to tell you that I have to go downstairs and find myself something for breakfast. I'll only be gone a short while, and I'll just be downstairs."

"Very well." said Holmes.

Doctor Watson left the room, confident that he had misdiagonsed Holmes' condition, and that he would be able to keep his sight. He went downstairs and to the kitchen, where Marie was preparing breakfast.

"Good morning, Marie." said Doctor Watson.

"Good morning, doctor! I never thought you would leave his side." said Marie.

"Well, I was getting hungry. Besides, he's resting for the moment."

"How is he?"

"The same. He still has a severe fever from the infection, and his pain has yet to subside."

"Have hope, Doctor. In time, he'll recover. Would you care for some coffee?"

"Yes, please."

Just as Marie was about to hand Doctor Watson his coffee; the two heard the most terrifying scream come from upstairs. Doctor Watson, fearing the worst, ran back up the stairs and to Holmes' room. The sickly man was sitting up in bed, and calling out for Doctor Watson.

"I'm here, ol' boy." said Doctor Watson, laying a hand on Holmes' shoulder.

"Watson, where are you?" asked Holmes.

"By the bed. Can't you see me?"

"No, I can't. Watson, I can't see you. I can't see anything."

Holmes whimpered and Doctor Watson took his hand and allowed him to squeeze it.

"Don't be afraid, Holmes. I'm here now. You aren't going to be alone; I won't leave you again." said Doctor Watson.

Holmes took a brief pause from his crying, and exhaled deeply. "When I was a boy, I would often play games with Mycroft. We always loved hide and seek; as Mycroft could never find me. One day, I chose to hide in a wardrobe in our father's room; not knowing of the price. My father returned early from his work and went up to his room; not even knowing where I was. He closed the door to his wardrobe, and locked it; complaining that he didn't want his sons to ruin his clothes. I started to bang on the door, hoping that father would hear me: he never did. It wasn't until morning that I was found by my father and Mycroft. Ever since, I've feared the dark. Now, my fear is eternal. I'll always be in the dark."

Suddenly, tears began to fall from Holmes' sightless eyes. Doctor Watson felt his heart drop to his stomach as he helplessly watched his sobbing friend; knowing he could do nothing to bring back his sight.


End file.
